Not as Guilty as Charged
by My Vantilene
Summary: Winry had no idea Edward was so selfish when it came to blame. And for something so petty as her own tears, tch. EdWin and angsty fluff, because you're worth it, girl.


Disclaimer: I don't own FMA Brotherhood or FMA. Let the games _begin_.

Quick A/N: _Alright, now, I myself don't like to curse, in fact I'm kind of fasting from cursing, so replace the word sycophant in this story with the name Ed likes to use to refer to Van. _

Edward Elric blamed himself for numerous things. He lived with the self-loathe every day, no small feat for how unrelenting it was. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and if it wasn't another, the day's toll had several more waiting in the wings. Sometimes, ironically enough, the subjects of guilt would come in order as they had first entered his life.

The first burden he accepted was that of his father's leave. He hated the sycophant, he told himself, and was glad to see him go. But there was still that part of him from long ago, the one that wanted nothing more than his approval. Of course, he felt he never got that approval, that he was seen through his father's eyes as a hapless mistake, unfixable by anyone's account. Maybe if he had been better, maybe if he had drank a little of his milk here or there, or if he'd learned alchemy earlier, the sycophant would have still been around, and his brother would have gotten the chance to grow under the care of his biological father instead of having to settle for a mess like Edward.

His second pertained to the loss of Alphonse's body. He was stupid and naïve to believe he could bring their mother back. All the alchemy books he had at his disposal dubbed human transmutation a strictly forbidden art, pure arrogance convinced him he could prove them wrong. If he hadn't been so overconfident in his abilities, none of it would have even happened. Al's cruel, metallic prison wouldn't let him fall asleep. He always would be awake when Ed would be wrenched from his sleep, almost always heralded by agonizing screams. It bothered him how much those screams perturbed his brother, how they haunted him with concern. The last thing he wanted was Alphonse to shoulder inexorable, apprehensive fears all on his own. That was Ed's job. And because it gave way to occupational hazards, he did everything in his power to keep it from becoming Al's. But everything in his power was apparently not enough, for he had no control over his own involuntary, reflexive reply to the bellicose images sprinkled throughout his nightmares, and there it was, that sympathetic and troubled tone in his voice as he informed his brother it was only a dream. It suited him better when Al could sleep peacefully instead of being plagued by quandaries that should be his and only his.

Not only did the armor cause him to face his brother's night frights, which Alphonse had no idea existed beforehand, but it prohibited him from enjoying cultural delicacies, or experiencing the feel of rain against his skin, or inhaling the malodorous fragrance of a rose, even, something Ed himself might've taken for granted before the accident. Al was his little brother and he did that to him. It broke his heart, and guilt superseded the vital organ. But even when Al got his body back, guilt was still blocking it from regenerating. He had starved him, made his bones as weak and as brittle as the wafers of Winry's delicate apple pie. He had to walk around with a cane for the first couple of months, and still he had trouble making it to the store and back on his own. He hated himself for everything his brother had been made to suffer.

His third was Nina's death. The girl had been so full of life and optimism, despite her mother's "disappearance," and she had trusted her father. She had loved that sinful man. She had done nothing to hurt him, never even uttering a single, cross word about the lack of cleanliness spilling out from every room of their old home. And yet, he had done _that _to her. Edward wished he could have figured out the connection between his wife's disappearance and his talking chimera beforehand. He blamed himself for needing to see it happen with his own eyes, when it was far too late, for the pieces to fit together. He took the fault of Scar's murder and Tucker's violation of ethics all for himself.

Fourth came the death of Colonel Hughes. The man was a devoted and kind soul, always looking for a way to help. His advice came from the heart and had a supernatural healing effect, no matter how impossible a situation seemed, it did just the trick. He was flippant and lively, and the man in Gracia and Elicia's life. He was a sole contributor to Roy's Fuhrer plans, and not only gave covert intel to the grateful flame alchemist, but also gave him the words he needed to hear when he needed to hear them. He would've been such a great father to Elicia, and was a great husband to Gracia. He didn't deserve the end he got. He shouldn't have fallen victim to Edward's research. It all wasn't supposed to end that way. He was supposed to be flaunting Elicia to Mustang that day on the phone in place of the deafening silence. He was supposed to come home to his daughter and wife that evening instead of lying in a dark, crimson pool of his own blood. A man that nice, that devoted, that charismatic and dependable shouldn't have died for simply trying to help Edward. But he did, and he could feel the repercussions of the death he had caused crashing all around him like an inexperienced surfer caught underneath the crest of a two story wave. Elicia didn't have a dad anymore. Gracia didn't have a husband. Roy Mustang, even after seeing the hell the Elric brothers had gone through, was giving human transmutation a second thought. And it was all because of Edward. It was all his fault.

The fifth came in the form of Winry's saline tears that day in the Central city alleyway. Winry was just worried for his and Al's safety. She had heard the rumors surrounding the fight that day and, being as frightened as she was, she was ready to throw herself into the heat of battle to see to it that they were okay. She wasn't even thinking about Ed's automail breaking, but more about his physical well-being, when she turned the corner into the alley that fateful day. She didn't expect to hear the identity of her parent's killer. She didn't expect that at all. She tried not to think about their deaths. She tried to focus on the positive things. Ed and Al were both still alive after a deadly taboo. That was an amazing feat all on its own. If she had lost them, she wouldn't know what she would've done. Which explains her presence at the scene that day. But, not only did she hear his identity, but she was within shooting range of him. So, she did the logical thing and grabbed the gun, tears running down her cheeks faster than lightning. She pointed it at the man and her fingers groped for the trigger. She could feel the cool metal brush against her fingers as she got a better hold on it. Now. Now was the time for vengeance. It was a lot to take in. Her father and mother's killer, and possibly Ed and Al's future killer was in her presence. And his heart was still beating. Her mother's heart wasn't still beating. Her father's heart wasn't still beating. Ed and Al's hearts were still beating, but how long would that last? How long _could _that last if she didn't pull the trigger? She knew what she had to do. But it didn't work. She couldn't do it. He killed her mom and dad. She couldn't do it. He was going to kill Ed and Al. She couldn't do it. He was closing in on Ed. She couldn't do it. Ed, Ed, Ed, Ed, Ed, _Ed, __**Ed, **_**Ed! **She. Could. Not. Do. It. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Edward was in front of her, blocking a deadly blow from the hands of Scar with intense fury radiating from his eyes, as if his glare could grow tendrils and choke the life right out of the Ishbalan murderer. Before he could, however, Al kicked him out of view and yelled something to Ed that she missed. She couldn't hear anything for awhile. But then, there was his voice, clear and crisp and reassuring as ever. Telling her all the good things about herself and why she couldn't pull the trigger, about her hands and how life sprung from them, how much he appreciated her, and so many other reasons that shooting him wouldn't have solved anything, but, instead, spread further hatred and revive the endless cycle of death the military ran by homunculi had caused. She couldn't see the sense in this, though, at the time. When he got the gun away from her, she couldn't stop crying. He embraced her for the longest time, but the tears still did not cease. He gave her his jacket, one last hug, ordered her to safety and ran after the Ishbalan. The tears did not stop then, nor did they stop well in to the night, but when they were finally gone, and she had sobered up, she smiled as she recalled his words and they brought a flutter to her heart. That he would say something so genuine and sweet, was just mind-blowing to her. But Ed didn't see that side of the story, so it clawed at Edward's heart. He felt that it was his fault she was crying. So he carried the burden for those tears as well.

All in all, Edward handled his guilt quite well. But even he knew he couldn't go his whole life without letting one out. He just kind of regretted it was Alphonse who he let out a shred of guilt about Winry's tears to.

He had been subtle about it. Real, real subtle. Him and Alphonse were in their shared room reading — believe it or not — alchemy books and quizzing each other when he let it slip.

"…so the mass of the first object divided by the girth of the second will be equivalent to the exchange of the — Brother?"

"Hmm? What?" he stole his gaze away from the window to cast a confused look at his brother.

"You weren't paying attention again, weren't you?" he closed the book calmly, only allowing it to make a muffled sound as he set it next to his spot on the bed parallel to his brother's, "So. What were you thinking about?" he inquired nonchalantly, as if it didn't make any difference in the world. But very few things could break Edward Elric's notorious concentration streaks, so whatever broke through that sturdy mind-barrier of his at least warranted further questioning.

"You know… when Winry found us fighting Scar in that alleyway?"

"When Scar made her cry?" he interrogated, trying to find the connection Ed was making with an understanding tilt of the head.

"When I made her cry." He clarified bluntly. He lamented the words almost immediately as he fought the pressure compacted in the vehemently perusing glare Alphonse shot him.

"What," he furrowed his brows in an almost angry fashion, "are you talking about?"

Al was not an intimidating person by nature, but with that look in his eye and that tone in his voice, he sent chills down Edward's spine. He was suddenly very self-conscious of his word choice.

"You know…" he began sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, "when I tried to get the gun away from her, when I tried talking to her, you weren't there, you didn't see all the tears. I know blood runs thicker than water, but…to me, it felt worse, much, much worse." A knowing smile quickly flashed across Alphonse's face so fast, Ed didn't even catch it.

"Are you kidding me?" he questioned, that tone still in his voice, revealing he was not satisfied with the answer. It just made Edward feel even more insecure.

"I just — I know it's stupid to say that I'd rather see someone's blood than Winry's tears — and that's, um, actually not at all what I'm saying, what I meant was—" he was interrupted by Alphonse's violent laughter that shook the entire bed. Edward furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?"

"Don't be asking what," he choked out between chuckles, "after I'm done, I'll straighten you out."

"Straighten _me _out? What?" Apparently, Ed's question just fueled his laughter even more and it took several seconds for him to finally calm down and compose himself enough to speak.

"It wasn't your fault she was crying. You didn't kill her parents."

"But I'm the one who said it out loud! I was the reason she found out! It was all because of me and my stupid carelessness!"

"How could you have known she was going to be there?"

"I shouldn't have been so hasty, I should have just —"

"What? Looked both ways before you talked?" He shook his head, another snicker ungraciously adjourning his speech. He was trying so hard to pull a straight face.

"This isn't funny, Al." Edward deadpanned, "You don't understand what it's like to make a girl cry. It's like holding a golden egg in your hand and — and holding onto it too strongly, so that it just breaks and the yolk gets all over you and the shells are mashed in with it, and you know you're the reason something so beautiful was destroyed. You're not rash like me. You wouldn't have shouted anything that accusing at a man, even if it was Scar. I'm just an idiot. Be grateful you're not."

Alphonse's face grew serious.

"You _really_ think Winry holds youresponsible." He marveled. It wasn't a question, but spoken with the awe one would come to expect from such inquiries.

"She probably still hates me for the whole thing, bet you she — Whoa. Umm, what are you doing?" he stopped midsentence as Al jumped off the bed, chained his elbow to his brother's, and began chauffeuring him out of the room.

"Come on, Brother." he whispered under his breath, "You're so clueless."

"W-where are we going—?" he didn't have to wait long, for the answer showed up in the form of Winry's bedroom door.

"No. No, no, no, no —"

"Winry!" Alphonse called in that sweet voice of his. Much to Edward's dismay, the door to her bedroom opened and the blonde sixteen-year-old emerged, taking in the scene of Al's smile and Ed's pout paired with his palpable lack of volition in the situation.

"What do we have here?"

"Ed wants to know —"

"Do not." His pout only deepened when he was ignored. He couldn't believe how Al was acting! He told him one of his unspoken fears, and this is how he's repaid?

"— if you blame him for that day in the alley with Scar."

She didn't hit Edward over the head with a wrench like he had been expecting. She didn't yell or lose her cool. She gave off a ponderous gleam in her eye and said nothing for quite some time. Maybe she was just waiting for the right amount of silence to pass before exploding on him.

"What does Ed think?"

Al blinked for a second, then released his brother. He fell to the ground unceremoniously, but picked himself back up and brushed himself off.

"Well, I just, um —" he winced for a split second before all emotional barriers were proved useless by a single gaze from Winry, "I just hope you don't hate me for all of that. I know, it was a lot to lay on someone with just a simple sentence, and having Scar in the same vicinity, it is completely understandable what you did, but I'm sorry it ever came to that in the first place. If I hadn't been so reckless and careless and stupid and blind and, just so much like my idiotic self then you wouldn't have—"

He was interrupted by something he had never expected.

A kiss.

Winry was kissing him.

_Winry_.

Winry _Rockbell_.

"Don't call yourself idiotic. It makes me feel stupid for falling in love with you."

He was so much in shock, he didn't even notice Alphonse's jubilant laughter in the background.

_AN:_

_Haha, I love angsty fluff pieces. They're kinda like bloody cotton candy. And shout out to _**Griselda Banks **_who made my day today. :D _

_See that sexy button right below this sentence? Click on it. You know you want to. _


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